Skray's fingers clenched tightly around the cargo strap, his knuckles turning white. He cast a furtive glance around, ensuring their solitary position in the convoy.
The others were distant enough, mere shadows ahead
and behind in the dim corridor.
“How many times have we altered this route now?” His voice, barely above a whisper, carried an undercurrent of frustration.
Klicker, walking beside him, heaved a weary sigh.
“Five times,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
“Five times this cycle.”
Skray’s lips twisted into a wry, humorless smile, his suspicions confirmed.
“See! They do this deliberately, Klicker. They're putting us right in their path, and you know it!”
Klicker’s reply was a low hush, tinged with apprehension.
“Of course they know. Ever since these... things appeared, they've been rerouting us. It's for our protection.”
A sharp, sardonic laugh escaped Skray, his voice rising despite his efforts. “Protect us? When? Tell me, Klicker, how many have we lost already?”
Klicker’s hand shot out, gripping Skray's arm, his eyes darting nervously.
“Keep it down!” he hissed.
They fell into a strained silence as a guard loomed into view. Towering over them, the guard's dark, emotionless eyes scrutinized their every move.
Skray and Klicker held their breath, trying to appear inconspicuous under the piercing gaze.
As they rounded the corner, leaving the guard behind, Klicker let out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“One of these days, Skray, your sharp tongue is going to be the death of us both.”
Skray rolled his eyes, a soft, scornful whisper escaping his lips. “Loyalist.”
They continued their trek, the weight of their cargo and their thoughts equally heavy, each step bringing them closer to the enigmatic heart of their home.
Stefan:
Is it wise to follow a regime blindly? Or is it a folly to think freely and question an established dictatorship? What do you think? Answer in the comments…